CHAPTER EIGHT: THE GAME
R4.
RADJAN.
I notice Celeste’s absence today. I ask her friends where she is.
“Maybe healing a broken heart, bro,” Vladimir jokes. “We also asked her if she knew a girl called Mirjana and I think she took it badly knowing you’re interested in another girl.”
“That’s weird. Why?” I ask, confused.
“Dude, have you never experienced being liked by girls in your previous school?” David asks back, smirking.
I don’t know. How am I even supposed to know that?
“I am not interested in Mirjana, I just…” I trail off. Akio, David, Vladimir, Denise and Brittany are all staring at me with disbelief on their faces.
“I just have something to ask her, you know? You guys, it’s really none of your business. Gotta go,” I say in a dismissive tone. Why am I even wasting my time with these losers? I better just find Mirjana and make it up to her as soon as I can.
What is even Celeste’s deal? Why is she acting like I personally wronged her for asking a girl’s number?
My mood slightly lifts when it is time for basketball practice. I originally played shooting guard in my previous team because a lot of my teammates were taller than I am. But here, I have to play the shooting forward position because most of my teammates are a lot smaller. A forward in a basketball team is supposed to be good at defending and hustling, but I have no patience for it. Who cares about defending if you rarely miss a shot anyway? I think it’s just better to leave the defending and other dirty jobs on the court to my teammates.
We practice new plays to give me tons of opportunities to score in preparation for our next game. The game is three days from now, I am told. Anyway, if it doesn’t scream star player, I don’t know what does.
“I am going to find out your dirty secret, you just wait and see,” a teammate tells me while we are on court practicing more plays.
I stare at him, bemused. I look at his jersey. It says Marsh on the back.
“What is this about, Marsh mallow?” I say, grinning. The other players who overhear chuckle.
“You think it is normal to transfer in another school and be this good? There is something weird about you. And I am going to find out, before my best friend comes back to the team, ready to take back the position you stole from him.”
“That’s enough, Jason,” coach scolds. “Concentrate on practice, boys. Or I’ll extend practice for one more hour.”
“It is not my fault whoever your best friend is sucks that he has to be replaced!” I snap. I want the last word to be mine. No one can just step on my pride like that. But I can see right away that it isn’t the right thing to say. Coach has gone red with anger, and everyone else stops doing what they are doing on the court. The whole atmosphere is suddenly very quiet.
“Carpiniello, are you going to play ball or are you going to keep talking?” Coach says, in a low but stern, don’t-mess-with-me tone.
I shrug. I stay quiet and let my game do the talking.
Three days after, it’s game day. My first ever game for the Martin Andersson University. We are up against Alice Wakefield School, a school I’m too familiar with which my previous school played too often in the finals. That’s modest. What I mean is a school my previous school often dusted. They never won a final against us. I can see they already lost their best players to graduation but a lot of players I recognize are still around.
The venue is jampacked with crowd. I can feel the adrenaline rushing through my veins. I still hope Mirjana will show up somehow, so I keep looking at the crowd just in case. So far, no luck.
“Let’s go, Radjan! Woooo!!!” I hear Celeste cheering so loud. She even has painted her face with #4, my jersey number. Denise, Brittany, and other girls I recognize from class also did the same. I think they are wearing cheerleader uniforms. So, Celeste the student body president is also a cheerleader? Is there anything she can't do? Maybe she’s also a member of the drama club. She’s good at drama, I can tell, after avoiding me for days for simply asking a girl’s number. That doesn’t even make sense.
I swear women must be from another planet. I never could understand them. Ignoring for days and suddenly a face paint of my jersey number? I ignore the girls’ cheering. Mirjana is not with them. I just want to see Mirjana. Is that so bad? I suddenly feel a chill run through my body from out of nowhere. The last few days of practices felt sort of weird. I’ve been feeling as if someone is following me. But whenever I would look, I don’t see anyone. Today is no different. I ignore it. Maybe I’m just nervous.
I see Akio, David and Vladimir on the front seat of the gym carrying a banner with my name on it and my heart swells with pride.
It is an enjoyable game. The coach of the opposing team doesn’t know what hit them. I do most of the scoring – almost exclusively, and no one from his goons is successful in stopping me. The crowd is going crazy. It is a one-man show. A Radjan Carpiniello show. If my father isn’t so busy drinking and passing out, maybe he could have been here watching me own all these people. My team wins the game as the final buzzer sounds. 90-75 is the final score.
I feel someone poking me on my back, but when I look, no one is near where I’m seated to even poke me anywhere. Creepy.
“You scored 51 points, my idol of all time,” Akio says as he approaches me, beaming. “I counted every point.”
I smile at him, determined to forget the creepy feeling I just felt, then quickly scan the crowd for Mirjana. I see someone that resembles her but I can’t be sure, because someone is obscuring my view of her face closely. I half walk, half run to catch up with her because she is already walking towards the exit.
“Mirjana?” I call. She stops walking and looks at me. Oops, wrong person. She looks like Mirjana a bit, but not quite.
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly. “I thought you were someone I know.”
She smiles. “I know you. You’re the new guy, Radjan Carpiniello. You played so great. Very, very impressive.”
“Thank you,” I say, but it sounded like a question.
“I’m Isabel, by the way,” she adds, while my eyes are already busy scanning the thinning crowd one more time for any sign of Mirjana. Isabel finally turns her back on me and seems to have given up trying to get me involved in a small talk.
Just as I am about to give up, I feel that chill again. The atmosphere is suddenly cold. Someone is poking me in the back again and when I glance, this time I see someone. A woman. A disheveled and gaunt woman, looking at me with that crazy look in her eyes.
“Death is coming!” she yells in a voice that sounds like a cry of warning. I take a step back, weirded out, still shaking from the cold.
“Guard! Take this woman off the gym,” I suddenly hear Celeste’s voice as she approaches me in a hurry. “Don’t mind her. She’s crazy. She’s been coming to the gym saying the same thing over and over.”
I stay quiet. I am still shaken. Is she a stalker or something? But why would she mumble a creepy thing like that? Death is coming?
“Earth to Radjan!” Celeste raises her voice to call me back to attention.
“Sorry. You were saying?” I ask.
Vladimir, Akio, David, Denise, and Brittany are all standing beside me all, with that look of awe in their faces. Celeste smiles at me, about to speak again, but Brittany beats her to it.
“You’re going to be the next Michael Jordan,” says Brittany.
“Oh my god, when was the last time you watched NBA?” Denise laughs at Brittany. “He’s going to be the next Stephen Curry.”
“I’m not going to be the next anyone,” I reply. “I am going to be the first Radjan Carpiniello.”
“First of his name, king of the hardcourt, Your Grace?” Akio quips, seemingly amazed by his own brilliance.
Well yeah, that’s more like it. I grin and give him a high five.
“You’re coming to the party with us tonight,” Celeste finally says.
I smile. Most guys hear beer or girls when they hear the word ‘party’. I hear food. Sounds like my father and I will have a nice meal when I get home from the party.
“I’m in,” I say, to the delight of everyone.